By Crispin Oduobuk
In the early hours of 7 December 2025, mutinous soldiers in Benin Republic moved against the state. They stormed the national television station, declared President Patrice Talon deposed and triggered an emergency appeal from Cotonou. Nigeria responded with the reflexes of a regional power. Fighter jets crossed the border. Airspace was secured. Ground forces were placed on standby at the request of the Beninese government. All of this happened before the Economic Community of West African States, ECOWAS, found its voice.
In the theatre of regional diplomacy, timing is everything. ECOWAS issued its condemnation and talked of deploying a standby force only after Nigerian aircraft had already been reported in action. The statement arrived late. It carried no visible signature. It read more like a diplomatic alibi than a guiding resolution. What was presented as multilateral legality looked, to the trained eye, like a post-dated receipt for a decision already taken in Abuja.
To the seasoned observer, this behaviour is familiar. When neighbours tremble, Nigeria moves. When capitals shake, Abuja interprets instability as an invitation. The language always shifts. Non-interference transforms into regional responsibility. Sovereignty becomes flexible. Force becomes fraternity.
To be fair, in the memory of the subregion, this instinct was forged by the fires of ECOMOG, and rightly so. From 1990 to 1997, Nigerian troops formed the backbone of the intervention in Liberia, pushing back warlords such as Charles Taylor and supervising a bruised march towards elections. From 1997 to 2000, Nigerian forces led the mission that restored the government of Ahmad Tejan Kabbah in Sierra Leone after a brutal coup and the invasion of Freetown.
In the long record of regional muscle, Nigeria’s footprint is heavy. Guinea Bissau felt it in 1998 and 1999. Côte d’Ivoire and Mali felt its diplomatic weight in 2011 and 2012 respectively. The Gambia witnessed it in 2017 when Nigerian-backed ECOWAS pressure forced Yahya Jammeh to accept defeat and walk away. Each time, Abuja wore the language of order. Each time, force was dressed in legality.
Against this backdrop, Nigeria’s posture at home looks incredibly contradictory. When terrorism chewed through the North-East and banditry metastasised across the North-West and other parts of the country, foreign assistance was treated as poison. American offers were waved away. The language of humiliation replaced the language of partnership. Sovereignty became a wall rather than a shield.
The recent historical record makes this contradiction a head-scratcher, if not laughable. In October 2020, United States special forces crossed into Northern Nigeria and rescued Philip Walton, an American citizen kidnapped in the Niger border region and held by armed men. The operation was fast and clean. The kidnappers were killed. The hostage was extracted to the United States. Nigeria did not collapse. Its dignity did not evaporate. Its skies did not fall.
In the logic of statecraft, simple questions persist. If Benin Republic can invite Nigerian jets to protect its constitutional order, why is Nigeria so allergic to calibrated American force against enemies chewing up its own territory? If sovereignty can flex outward in Cotonou, why must it harden into paralysis in Sambisa?
Viewed through the lens of the psychology of power, the answer to these questions is uncomfortable. Nigeria fears the optics of weakness more than the reality of bloodshed. It fears the label of dependency more than the cost of funerals. It fears the theatre of foreign boots more than the horror of burning villages.
This is where we must tell ourselves some plain truths. Nation-building demands disciplined, coherent leadership devoid of sentiments. A country cannot preach sacred borders at home and practice flexible doctrines abroad without losing moral stature. A regional hegemon cannot indefinitely protect the houses of others while refusing assistance to fortify its own foundations.
In the final calculus of power, the eagle must be honest with itself. It cannot forever circle the neighbourhood while its own nest is exposed to fire, whether from within, or kindled from outside. To continue like this is not strategic pride. It is strategic theatre.
Nigeria has earned the right to lead. But leadership, to endure, must be consistent, humble and brutally honest with itself.
Moreover, if sovereignty is truly sacred, it must be sacred in all directions. If it becomes flexible in one direction, it cannot remain inflexible in the other direction. This is the hard lesson of 7 December 2025 for Nigeria.
Oduobuk, a communications expert, writes from Abuja.
